Rumour Has It
by Limmet
Summary: A rumour about Prowl being a femme is spreading like wildfire aboard the Ark. Unfortunately for the poor tactician, he’s the last one to hear about it.
1. Puzzlement

_**Author's notes: **__This was spawned from an idea that popped into my head with all the gender-bending fics and plot bunnies that I've seen around lately. Even though the concept of femmes goes against my personal canon universe in which my fics normally take place (as I view Transformers as being genderless and only nominally male), I decided to make an exception for this one. Enjoy if you will. _

_**Warnings: **__Just some crackiness. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

When asked about it later, none of the Ark's residents could say for sure who had started the rumour. One day, it had suddenly been there, travelling with lightening speed across the base like a virulent case of cosmic rust, infecting everyone in its way.

With one exception.

Prowl frowned as he nailed down the two 'Bots seated in front of him with a stern, reproachful glare, already knowing that it would have no effect. No more than the long, intentionally tedious lecture he had given the twins about proper behaviour and personal responsibility. While he really hated having to go through this time and again, there was at least a tiny comfort to be had in the knowledge that the perpetrators were without a doubt even more bored than he was.

At least that was how it usually went. This time, though, both Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had been eyeing him strangely, as if they expected him to grow a pair of horns any moment. And the unrelenting staring had continued until he had felt a growing sense of unease creeping up his neck cables.

Perhaps this was a deliberate tactic, an agreed upon way between the two to try to speed up the lecture. If so, their little antics were _not_ going to work; that much the tactician promised himself. Still, it had gotten increasingly difficult to keep up appearances under their odd stares, and he was glad when it was finally time to bring everything to an end.

"So, next time I expect you will follow orders like everyone else in your team and not run off to attack the enemy at your own discretion," Prowl concluded, arms authoritatively crossed in front of him.

"Uh-huh," came the response from Sideswipe's half-open mouth. From the vapid look on his face, he probably hadn't heard more than three or four words.

At least there was no cheekiness or sarcasm. Unusual, but a nice change, nevertheless.

Sunstreaker just nodded, chin resting in his hands and elbows on the desk, his optics seemingly glued to Prowl's chassis.

"Good," Prowl said curtly, even though he didn't believe the assurances for even a second. "Then comes the matter of your punishment."

At this, the two pairs of optics finally moved away from his form for what had to be the first time since their owners had stepped into his office. The twins' gazes met briefly, giving the impression that a shared thought was somehow passed between them. The tactician frowned slightly; he didn't want to know what was going through those half-crazed, semi-demented minds.

"Punishment?" Sideswipe asked somewhat tentatively, as if he hadn't heard the black and white mech in front of him utter those particular three syllables countless of times before.

Prowl's optics narrowed. "Yes. Or in other words, what happens when you don't follow orders from a superior officer."

He made a tired pause, expecting one or both of the twins to come up with a pathetic attempt at an excuse or explanation for their unacceptable behaviour like they normally would whenever the word 'punishment' was mentioned. _'The orders weren't clear enough', 'there has to be room for improvising', 'nobody said we couldn't'_ – he had heard them all. But this time, both of the twin terrors were silent. And to his befuddlement, they seemed almost... _expectant_?

He regarded the two with suspicion, trying to spot the hidden reason for this uncharacteristic behaviour. But there was nothing otherwise out of the ordinary, and now the stares were back again, fixed on him with an even stronger intensity than before. Prowl was suddenly reminded of how the canine organics that humans liked to keep as pets would look at their owners whenever they wanted to be fed or petted.

Oh well. He wasn't going to go easy on them, if that's what they expected.

"You will both be doing double shifts for ten consecutive days, starting today. Am I clear?"

He had expected the usual groans and moans to follow, but again, his expectations were thwarted.

"Double shifts? Is _that _all?" Sunstreaker yelled, voice dripping with unmistakable disappointment.

The tactician raised an optic ridge at the little outburst. "And what had you been expecting? I wouldn't mind increasing the sentence to twenty days, if that's what you want..."

Sunstreaker made an ugly grimace. "No, I just figured that maybe you could have been a little more _creative_ in your apportion of punishment."

To his left, Sideswipe was nodding furiously. Prowl had an impression that he was missing a pivotal piece of the puzzle, but had no idea even what shape or colour he should look for. Then again, the twins were notoriously unpredictable, so perhaps there was little point in trying to apply logic or rational thought to their behaviour.

"Creative? Exactly what's that supposed to mean?" Prowl asked in an attempt to clear some of his confusion.

"Come on now, Prowl, use your imagination. We're locked into your office, both me and Sideswipe here, and we've been badly misbehaving... Given those circumstances, don't tell me you can't think of a more _interesting_ punishment than extra shifts?" The yellow 'Bot leaned forward across the desk, inching himself closer towards the tactician.

The twins would remain a mystery to him, forevermore. Whatever it was they were fishing for, he had no idea.

"No, the punishments stands," Prowl informed the yellow 'Bot and his twin. "Now I believe the two of you have a shift starting in about a breem, so I'd suggest you go report for duty."

Sunstreaker grudgingly got up from his seat, a sullen mope on his face, not unlike that of a human child who had just gotten a bag of her favourite candy snatched out of her hands. Sideswipe, disappointment etched onto his features, stood up just a second later and followed his twin out the door. It closed with a loud _bam_, and the tactician was left alone in his office, shaking his head.

Well, he had no time to ponder the twins' oddness any further. The fight his team had had with the 'Cons this morning had resulted in a shattered headlight that he needed Ratchet to fix. And now was as good a time as any.


	2. Confusion

_**Author's notes: **__Wow, thanks for all the reviews, favourites and alerts for the first chapter! I hadn't really expected such a response; to be honest, I was a bit hesitant about posting this story at first since I wasn't sure whether it would be at all funny. We'll see how this and the following chapters stack up, though. _

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks a lot to hydraling110 for betaing this. Very much appreciated! _

_**Warnings: **__Just some crackiness. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Prowl positioned himself on the repair berth, stretching out into as comfortable a position as was possible on the hard surface. He looked forward to finally having the damaged headlight replaced; not that it caused him any great pain, but the broken remains chafed uncomfortably whenever he moved his upper body. Good thing that Ratchet was a first class medic who could fix that kind of minor damage in an instant. Blindfolded even, if necessary.

"So," Ratchet said slowly as he moved to inspect Prowl. "Your headlight's broken, is it?"

Prowl thought the other seemed unusually tense. Perhaps it was the symptoms of an overexertion, considering how seriously the medic always took his duties.

"Yes. A Decepticon laser blast grazed it," he explained to the white 'Bot in front of him. "Luckily, that was the only area to sustain any damage."

"Uh-huh." The medic leaned closer to get a better view at the gaping hole in Prowl's chassis which had only a few hours ago been covered with a sturdy plate of glass. He didn't reach out to touch it or examine it further.

After about half a klik of staring, Ratchet looked up again. "So did anything else get damaged in there – cables or circuits or such – or is it just the glass that's broken?" he asked the tactician.

The black and white mech's optic ridge arched slightly upwards. Wasn't that part of the medic's job to find out? Prowl had no medical knowledge other than mandatory first aid, and telling whether any damage had been done to his circuitry went beyond that.

"I don't know, Ratchet. Everything feels like it's supposed to, but there might still be something in there that got fritzed up in the blast."

Perhaps the medic really was overexerted. He decided he would suggest to Prime that Ratchet should take at least a few days' vacation, be it voluntary or ordered. First Aid could fill in for him in the meantime; it would be a good opportunity to give the medic-in-training some extra responsibility.

"Of course. I'll have a further look," Ratchet said, looking vaguely uncomfortable, as if he really wanted to be somewhere else right now. Like in the middle of a Decepticon ambush, for instance.

A hesitant hand reached out towards Prowl's chest, and then it seemed to linger midway for a short moment before being withdrawn again, only to fall impotently to the medic's side.

"Is there something wrong?" The white mech's rather eccentric behavior was starting to alarm the tactician. "Surely a minor wound like this can't be serious?"

"No. No, not at all," came the distracted reply, far away as though it had been uttered on another planet. A pained grimace marred Ratchet's faceplates as he regarded the broken headlight like it was an intimidating hurdle towering in front of him.

"I'll just touch... here... then." The hand again hovered above Prowl's rather prominent chest area, uncertain and hesitating.

Prowl was starting to lose his patience. Whatever was the problem? One would think that his chest armour plating was corrosive, judging by the way the medic was so hesitant to touch it. He had other duties he needed to see to and reports that had to be written, so he'd rather see the procedure finished as soon as possible.

Just as the exasperated Prowl was about to ask the medic to kindly hurry up, the hand finally descended. Fingers came to a tentative rest on his chest armour, and a thumb found its way inside the remains of his headlight. Quickly, it felt around at the cables with an unusual urgency, and then it was withdrawn.

There was a clear look of embarrassment on Ratchet's face as he pulled his hand back. "I'm sorry about that," he said, purposefully avoiding Prowl's gaze.

"About what?" The tactician was confused. As far as he could tell, the medic had only performed a simple, standard medical examination.

Suspiciously, he raised a hand to feel at the wound himself. His fingers gently explored the ridge of the jagged headlight remains, and then dug deeper, plunging down in search of any hidden anomalies. Bringing them back up, he stroked the metal plating of his protruding chest area under careful fingertips to see if there were any cracks in the smooth surface, rubbing a thumb in slow circles over the armour surrounding the shattered headlight.

He discovered nothing out of the ordinary.

He suddenly became aware of Ratchet staring in transfixion as his hand moved across his chest plating, not entirely unlike how the twins had previously gawked at him. The medic's jaw hung open like an unhinged door as he watched the little display, seemingly unable to tear his gaze away.

It was a pretty strange reaction to be sure, but Prowl decided to pay it no further heed.

"So how about that new headlight then?" the tactician asked, trying to prod Ratchet on.

"What? Oh. Oh, of course. Just a second." Prowl's words had Ratchet finally snap out of his trance-like state, and he reached towards the tray behind him and grabbed the shiny new headlight that was lying atop it.

"Alright then," the medic said as he turned back, sounding as if he was talking to himself rather than to his patient. "I'll just put this thing in, and then it will be all done."

He fiddled nervously with the spare part, almost dropping it on the medbay floor in the process.

Why Ratchet looked like a medic-in-training about to perform a spark case surgery, Prowl had no idea. He just reminded himself to tell the Autobot leader that Ratchet was in sore need of a few days off.


	3. Bewilderment

_**Author's notes: **__Thought I should just address Ratchet's ostensible lack of professionalism in the previous chapter, which was pointed out by several readers. The way I see it, Ratchet has during his career examined many femmes more thoroughly than that without being disturbed or embarrassed. However, I envision that in this story, the number of femmes have ever since the onset of the war gone straight downhill so that they are now über-rare, almost extinct. This means that most mechs, including Ratchet, have been deprived of more intimate female company for a LONG time. So what we see is the reaction of someone forced into millions of years of celibacy when he finally gets the opportunity to touch (what he thinks is) a female again, not that of a medic who has prudish qualms about examining female patients as such._

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Again, thanks to hydraling110 for beta reading this. _

_**Warnings: **__Just some crackiness. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

"Alright, I'll talk to Ratchet about it," Prime nodded as the tactician had voiced his concerns about the medic.

Content with that, the black and white mech turned to leave, but was thwarted by a hand on his shoulder.

"Hold on, Prowl."

Used to obeying that deep baritone without question, Prowl halted in his tracks and turned around to face his leader.

"I just wanted to have a little talk with you," Prime said hesitantly, as if not sure how to best put whatever was on his mind. His hand dropped from the tactician's shoulder as he searched for the proper words to express his thoughts. "I suspect that Ratchet might not be the only one who is in danger of, ah... overexerting himself. Or pushing himself too far." There was an unusually apologetic look to the leader's face that Prowl couldn't quite interpret.

"Oh? Who are you referring to?" Surely it couldn't be the twins, at least; those two never did any more than absolutely necessary to make sure that orders were carried out, if even that. The only exception was when it came to fighting Decepticons; then there was nothing wrong with the enthusiasm of either of the two.

Prime fidgeted a little where he stood, looking faintly embarrassed. "I'm... I'm talking about _you_, Prowl."

"_Me_?" the tactician asked, perplexed. He certainly hadn't seen _that_ coming.

"Yes, you." Prime seemed to have regained some of his composure, and he drew himself up to full height so as to put more weight behind his words. "Prowl, I think you should stop physically engaging the 'Cons in battle. You're putting yourself in way too much danger like this. Look at what happened during today's fight – you were wounded and..."

"_Wounded_?" Prowl almost yelled, wondering if his commanding officer had finally snapped under the immense pressure that came with leading an entire faction. "One of my headlights was shattered, that was all. It barely qualifies as a wound, and it certainly doesn't merit this... concern."

The tactician had to admit that he was nothing short of flabbergasted. They needed every able mech on the battlefield to stand up against the Decepticons. Why did Prime want to withhold him from those duties, and ostensibly for something so simple as a minor wound?

Prime held out a hand to stave off Prowl's protests and drew a heavy sigh.

"True, this time it was nothing serious, but what about next time? Or the time after that?" There was an underlying urgency to the red and blue mech's words as he spoke. "You're too... valuable to risk yourself like that."

Oh, so that was it, was it? Prime was simply concerned that Prowl's outstanding tactical abilities would be lost? Well, he supposed he could see some logic behind that kind of reasoning, but it wasn't as if there weren't others aboard the Ark whose positions and skills were just as important as his. Ratchet immediately came to mind. Without his medical expertise, the remaining 'Bots would have a hard time recuperating from their frequent fights with the 'Cons, but not even Ratchet was exempt from partaking in battles, even if that wasn't his primary task.

Well, he would make Prime see reason.

"I can understand your concern, Prime. However, if we were to withhold all mechs of importance from battle, there wouldn't be very many of us left to fight. We have all willingly chosen to put ourselves on the line by supporting the Autobot cause, and my life is no more valuable than that of anyone else." There was a strong note of pragmatism in his voice, emanating from someone that was certain he was in the right and no arguments in the world could make him think differently.

The expression on Prime's faceplates softened somewhat. "I see what you mean, but I'm afraid I have to disagree. It's just that... your kind is so rare. It would be a shame to lose such a 'Bot when there are so few of you."

Well, Prowl had to agree that Prime did have a point. Mastermind tacticians of his caliber were indeed few and far between. And he had been the most prominent one back on Cybertron, hence his having been personally chosen by Prime to serve at the Autobot leader's side.

Certainly, Prime's reasoning was flattering, but faulty nonetheless. There were other tacticians on Cybertron who could be transferred to replace him, should he one day fall at the hands of the 'Cons.

"But I'm not the only one, Prime. You know that. It's not reason enough for me to stay behind while the rest of you fight and put your lives in danger."

Prime sighed again, as if he had expected this response from his tactician. "Well, I'm not going to order you to stay out, if that's how you feel. I will ask, however, that you think about what I've said, and don't take any unnecessary risks from now on. Cybertron needs your kind."

Prowl made a sort of non-committal grunt. At times, Prime really did seem to have his priorities somewhat askew.

* * *

_**End note:**__ Yup, the old "two characters thinking they're talking about the same thing, which they're not, thus leading to amusement" trope... whew, it turned out to be a lot more difficult to write than I had thought at first! _

_And what do you know, seems like I actually managed to produce a whole chapter entirely free of sexual innuendo! Though I'm afraid that's more than I can say about the next couple of upcoming chapters... _


	4. Disconcertion

_**Author's notes: **__Again, thanks to everyone for your feedback; much appreciated! _

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks to hydraling110 for pointing out stupid errors on my part._

_**Warnings: **__Just some crackiness. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

It had been a stressful day. Prowl was glad to finally get a moment to sit down in the rec room and relax, a cube of energon in his hand. Regular energon, of course, not high-grade, considering the undesirable effect that such frivolous substances had on his logic processor.

He was grateful for the calm and quiet; the twins were still assigned to their double shifts, and so the atmosphere in the room was peaceful.

Just how he liked it.

The only other 'Bot present was Bumblebee, who kept giving him odd glances from across the room. Prowl furrowed his brow slightly but decided to ignore the stares, until the little 'Bot made his way over, rather slowly, to where the tactician was sitting.

"Is everything alright, Bumblebee?" Prowl asked as the yellow mech made himself comfortable in the seat on the other side of the table. He thought the other looked uncharacteristically tense, so there was probably something weighing on his mind.

"Sure, everything's fine," came the quick answer, only serving to cement Prowl's belief that there was something not quite right about the situation. But he decided not to press the issue; Bumblebee would let him know once he felt comfortable doing so.

The little mech threw a sidelong glance at the tactician, twisting a little in his chair, as if he was acutely embarrassed about something. From where Prowl was sitting, his dermal sensors picked up on a minute elevation in the heat in the room, emanating from an increase in the other's internal temperature. The tactician was a bit surprised at this – he could see no logical reason for such a reaction, but made no comment on it. Instead, the two continued to sit in silence, Prowl starting to feel vaguely uneasy.

As if finally coming to a decision after having debated with himself for several orns, Bumblebee spoke up at last.

"You know, back on Cybertron, I-I never actually got to meet any... well, female Autobots. A-and that's why... I'd like... I mean..." his voice trailed off, and he looked down on the floor, not meeting with Prowl's optics.

For a moment, Prowl was confused. Then, it all dawned upon him.

Of course. Bumblebee was, for all his battle experience, still a very young 'Bot. Unlike his older peers, who had been around when femmes were still plentiful on Cybertron, he had no experience whatsoever with the opposite gender, and hence he was curious about the more... intimate parts of such relations. Even if he already knew about the theoretical basics of bonding, it was only natural that he wanted to learn about the practical aspects as well.

Well, that clearly explained the sudden rise in the yellow mech's internal temperature. No doubt, he was rather embarrassed about bringing the subject up, but his curiosity had finally gotten the better of him.

Prowl quenched the heavy groan that threatened to escape his vocalizer. Wasn't it part of _Ratchet's_ job to answer such queries? He was on the verge of telling Bumblebee to go see the medic for a thorough explanation on the subject, but then remembered that Ratchet was currently "enjoying" a week of unwanted, ordered vacation, courtesy of Prime himself.

Of course, Prowl _could_ dismiss Bumblebee's inquiry and hope that he went to ask someone else, but when it all came down to it, the maturity level of certain 'Bots aboard the Ark left much to be desired. His stoic nature aside, the tactician was rather fond of the yellow mech and didn't want anyone to make fun of him for his question or blatant lack of experience. Not to mention the possibility that some might find great amusement in feeding a gullible, innocent mech false information on such a delicate subject. No, it was better to have Bumblebee learn more about these matters from a reliable, honest source.

Well then. Looked like he had no choice but to handle this himself. Not that he thought the little 'Bot was likely to ever _need_ this kind of information, considering the extreme rarity of femmes nowadays, but it was still part of what every mech should know.

"It's alright, Bumblebee," the tactician said, a bit tensely. "I understand if you'd like to know more about how to partake in intimate relations with femmes. It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

Bumblebee looked surprised. Obviously, he hadn't expected the tactician to catch on so quickly.

The Second in Command drew a deep breath, steeling himself.

"Well, the first thing you should know," he said quickly, wanting to get this over and done with as soon as possible, while still managing to sound properly dry and pragmatic, "is that femme interfacing circuitry is slower to respond than that of mechs. Hence, a lot of tactile stimulation is required in order to get your partner ready for a spark bonding."

He made a pause, wondering just how much detail he should put into his explanation.

"Most femmes tend to be sensitive in the areas around the hip joints and the seams running down the sides of their torsos." He indicated the areas with his fingers as he spoke. "This is because there is a larger concentration of cables and wires in those areas. However, this also means that you need to be rather careful when you touch there, as too intense stimulation can make a femme overload before you have bonded your sparks."

The little mech's eyes grew ridiculously large at Prowl's words, and the tactician could feel a sudden, steep increase in the heat emanating from the yellow chassis.

Well, surely it wasn't _that_ embarrassing, as long as it was kept on a professional level. But, then again, to an inexperienced mech like Bumblebee, it probably was.

He continued with a reasonably detailed description of the rest of the parts and spots that made up a femme's chassis, and how one should approach them. It was, when it all came down to it, something every mech was entitled to know, regardless of whether he would ever get a chance to use that knowledge in real life.

Bumblebee only stared. And gaped.

"Also, if your intention is to spark-bond with each other, you need to be very attentive to your partner and her reactions. While most mechs can overload several times in rather quick succession, a femme can normally only overload once, and then her interfacing circuitry needs to reboot, which can take a few joors. Hence, there is a fine line to walk. You need to be slow and draw the process out in order to get the femme's circuitry properly stimulated, but if you wait too long, the femme might overload before you've spark-bonded."

He made a pause. That should pretty much have covered it all.

"Any questions?"

The little mech shook his head frantically but silently, apparently at a loss for words. But judging by the look on his face, Prowl surmised that he wanted to be left alone to ponder the information he had been given – together with the fact that he would most likely never have any use for it.

A sudden pang of sympathy hit the tactician as he stood up to retreat to his quarters. In an uncharacteristic gesture of gentleness, he put an encouraging hand on the yellow 'Bot's shoulder and squeezed lightly. "There's no need to feel discouraged, Bumblebee. One day or the other, you might actually be given the chance to try out what I've talked about today."

The little mech's jaw almost fell to the floor as he stared up at Prowl, who gave a small, comforting smile, though not being entirely sure why the other's mouth components had unhinged like that. As the tactician walked out, he could hear Bumblebee's cooling fans starting to kick in at an almost alarming speed.


	5. Confoundedness

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks to hydraling110 for yet again betaing._

_**Warnings: **__Just some crackiness. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

The large mound of paperwork that had originally towered impressively on top of Prowl's desk had now decreased to a rather flat pile. Still, there was important work to be done, and he could not rest just yet.

Grabbing the top paper from the pile, he reclined somewhat in his chair to read it. Before he had finished the first line, however, there was an insistent knock on the door.

"Come in, Jazz," came the automatic reply. He could recognize that confident, self-certain knock from miles away.

And true to Prowl's assertion, in stepped the saboteur, as usual looking as if he didn't have a care in the world. He strode up to Prowl's desk, and watched the mech seated behind it with a calculating sort of stare.

"Yes?" The tactician barely looked up from the paper in his hands; if Jazz had something of real importance to report, he wouldn't be sauntering in like this.

"Busy?" The words were followed by a dull thud as the saboteur flopped down into the chair across from Prowl, an arm nonchalantly slung over the backrest.

"I have some things to do, yes."

"There's more to life than paperwork, you know."

Prowl looked up. While Jazz was known for being friendly and open with everyone, there had been a curious sort of undertone to his flippant words. The tactician wasn't sure he knew how to interpret it.

He decided to cut straight to the chase. "Any specific reason you wanted to see me?"

The saboteur didn't answer the question immediately. Instead, he studied the fingertips on his right hand as if they had been the most interesting items he had ever come across. Then he suddenly leaned forward towards the tactician, one of his typical Jazz smiles adorning his face.

"There's this band playing in town tonight. Thought you might want to come with me and watch it?"

He mentioned the name of the band as well, but to Prowl it only sounded like inane gibberish.

"You know I'm not interested in Earth music." He had to admit that he was a bit surprised at the offer. Normally, the free-spirited saboteur would proposition other, more fun-loving mechs to come along for such activities rather than the stoic tactician. Most likely, everyone else in the Ark was either on duty or had turned him down for other reasons, and now Prowl was the only option left.

Too bad for Jazz. Looked like he would have no choice but to go to this concert on his own.

"Ah, that's a shame. You don't know what you're missing." Jazz leaned even further across the desk, his arms and chest almost flat on the surface so that he came to look up at the tactician. "Sure I can't convince you?"

_Ever the social butterfly, wasn't he? _

"Quite sure."

A couple of kliks passed by in silence as Prowl returned to his paperwork. Then:

"So how about we do something else tonight, then? Go for a drive, maybe? There's this scenic route not far from here, it's really nice for a couple of 'Bots to go..."

A shiver suddenly passed through the desk and the tactician looked up, optic ridges wrinkling into a deep frown at the sight that greeted him.

"Jazz, why are you sitting on my desk?"

Jazz's only response was to leer at him, and edge himself closer towards the tactician, who automatically recoiled. "Because it's comfortable. Perhaps not so much as certain other... _furniture_ in here would be" – he threw a glance towards a more secluded area of the office – "but it will have to do. For now."

The illogical scene had the tactician at a loss. Sure Jazz was an unpredictable, sometimes even oddly behaving mech, but this was unprecedented even for him.

As if he had heard Prowl's thoughts, the saboteur moved – or perhaps slithered was more like it – his body into what seemed to be a rather uncomfortable position, his aft elevated into the air.

"Aww, don't be so stiff and formal, now... _Prowlie_," came the encouraging purr, accompanied by a finger slowly tracing the saboteur's grill.

"My name is Prowl," the tactician said coldly, his optics narrowing. Was this some convoluted way to make fun of him, or what was Jazz playing at with his posing and ludicrous address?

Enough of this nonsense.

"Kindly get off my desk. Now," he warned as he drew himself up in his chair, a harsh edge to his voice.

Jazz sat up, pouting. "Aww, come on, you didn't even let me finish," he whined, not giving any signs that he was about to heed the order.

Prowl sighed inwardly, as he thought he finally understood. Rather than being an attempt to make fun of him, this was something the saboteur had picked up from Earthen culture.

He had long ago lost count of all the times that Jazz had made silly references or acted out bizarre little scenes that made no sense to Prowl whatsoever, but were quickly picked up on and laughed at by the more Earth-savvy mechs aboard the Ark. Not seldom leaving the tactician silently wishing that Jazz would act a bit more dignified and worthy of a mech of his rank.

He guessed that this last bout of illogical behaviour from the saboteur was something from a human movie or the other, and that the antics were somehow supposed to be funny given the circumstances.

But still – enough was enough. Jazz's brand of humour rarely appealed to him, and he had work to do. Not listening to the other's protest, Prowl grabbed the saboteur firmly by the arm and rather decisively separated him from the piece of office furniture that his body seemed to have glued itself to. Resolutely, he then half threw and half dragged the other out of the room, slamming the door in his face.


	6. Perplexity

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Thanks to hydraling110 for betaing this chapter._

_**Warnings: **__Just some crackiness. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Prowl cocked an optic ridge where he was sitting at his desk. He could have sworn he had just heard that strange sound again. Still, he had no idea where it originated from. He had searched through the room for possible malfunctioning equipment when he had first heard it, but had come up with nothing.

_Click click_.

There it was again. This time he was sure it wasn't just a figment of his own imagination.

But what was responsible for those sounds still remained a mystery. Perhaps it was his servos that were getting old and clunky and he should seek Ratchet out to have them replaced?

But no. They all – willingly or not – went to the Ark's medic for regular check-ups, and Ratchet was _very_ thorough. There was no way he would overlook something like that during his exams.

Annoyed, Prowl continued his paperwork. After about half a joor of scanning through reports, he stood up and went to fetch one of the data pads that neatly lined the shelves on the other side of the room. And then, he heard that soft sound again.

_Click click_.

Alright, that was _it_. He would find the source of this clicking noise even if he had to pick the entire Ark apart, so help him Primus.

It had sounded a lot closer this time, though. Almost as if it had come from somewhere on the shelves. He scanned the data pads critically, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Not letting that stop him, he was about to start removing all the pads and put them on the floor to see if there was something else there, when his optics fell on something unexpected. Tucked in between two of the pads, well hidden, was a camera.

His optics widened, and for a second he was confused. The camera certainly didn't belong to him, so who had put it here? And why did it...

_Oh slag_.

With a few quick steps, Prowl reached the alarm button and fiercely pressed down on it. Immediately, a piercing wail filled the air, speaking its clear language to all the 'Bots within the Ark – _Decepticon intruder_.

He barely had the time to turn around before the camera had seemingly folded on itself and Reflector sprang forward, the three components sprinting for the door at breakneck speed.

"Hold it!" Prowl ordered angrily, reaching into his subspace pocket for his gun and hurrying after the intruder, weapon at the ready. _If those 'Cons got away... _

He didn't have to worry, though. As he turned the corner he had seen the gestalt team round mere astroseconds before him, a comforting sight greeted him.

Reflector was already surrounded by several Autobots, their guns trailed on the camera components, who had their arms wisely raised in surrender. Sour grimaces marred the three identical faces.

Ironhide just shook his head in stunned disbelief as Prowl entered the little scene. "I swear, these 'Cons' circuits must be fried. Thinking they can actually break into our own headquarters to spy on us without getting caught..." He poked the closest Reflector component, who recoiled slightly, with the barrel of his rifle.

"Put them into the brig," Prowl ordered. "I will talk to them shortly."

* * *

The tactician studied the three components where they slouched on the narrow berth lining the far wall of the cell, a set of sturdy energy bars separating them from the outside. He had never been sure of just how to classify Reflector – as one mech, or as three seperate.

Well, not that it mattered.

Prowl crossed his arms in front of him while drawing himself up to full height, ensuring that he looked as authoritarian as possible. Giving the gestalt team a fierce glare – which they returned – he addressed the middle one with the camera lens on his torso, who seemed to be their leader. Viewfinder, was it?

"Why were you sent here? What sort of information were you looking for?" His voice was stern, clearly showing that he expected answers from his captives.

The questions were met with stubborn silence.

Prowl narrowed his optics. "Who sent you? Megatron? Starscream?"

The non-Viewfinder components – Prowl had no idea how anyone could tell those two apart, and doubted that even the Decepticon leader knew how to – glanced nervously towards the third mech, obviously expecting him to do the talking.

"We will not answer any of your questions, Autobot," Viewfinder snorted disdainfully, clearly the bravest of the three. The two other components seemed to take comfort in their leader's defiance, straightening up slightly where they were sitting. "We do not give information to the enemy willingly."

As expected.

Prowl quenched a heavy sigh. He didn't have time for this. Sure he could leave the prisoners here to stew for a while, and hope they would be more talkative when he came back. But perhaps there was a quicker way to gain the answers he wanted.

When it all came down to it, Reflector was the most useless gestalt team ever sparked. While there were plenty of Decepticons that had given the tactician and his comrades a lot of grief over the years, the camera was not one of them. The times Megatron had had any real use for Reflector could probably be counted on one hand. There would be little harm in offering the team their freedom in exchange for the requested information.

"Is that so?" Prowl said, raising an optic ridge. "Actually, I've found that most Decepticons will trade just about anything as long as the price is right." He leaned closer to the bars, making sure he had the others' full attention before continuing. "Tell me who sent you and why, and we will let you go free."

The three captives looked at each other, none of them speaking a word, but from the looks of it, a silent agreement somehow passed between them. Prowl briefly wondered just how they did that, feeling vaguely uneasy at the strange, unexplainable link between the components.

"Alright," Viewfinder finally said, leaning back against the wall nonchalantly. "We accept your terms."

"Good," Prowl nodded in satisfaction, glad the captives had seen reason. "Then, what was your mission?"

"Simple reconnaissance work. Take pictures. You know, what we usually do when sent out on missions," came the snarky reply.

The tactician's optic ridges drew together in slight annoyance. The gestalt leader was hardly being cooperative, despite having agreed to his terms.

"Who sent you?" Prowl asked instead, hoping the simpler question would earn him a more straightforward answer.

"Soundwave."

"And what were his exact orders?"

Viewfinder shrugged. "'Take as many pictures of the Autobot tactician as you can and bring them back.' That's all."

Prowl stared. "Of me? Why would Soundwave want pictures of... _me_?" he asked, uncomprehending.

"No idea." Viewfinder stood up, approaching the bars. "Now, are you gonna let us out of here?"

* * *

_**End note:**__ Yeah, Soundwave is a closet pervert. But what do you expect from someone who covers his face with both a mouthplate and a visor, and speaks through a voice distortioner? ;) _


	7. Befuddlement

_**Author's note:**__ This chapter was kinda meant to poke fun at the ambiguity of the infamous "sex scene" between Optimus Prime and Elita-1 in the episode "The Search for Alpha Trion". Things here might make a bit more sense if you've seen it. _

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Lots of thanks to hydraling110 for betaing._

_**Warnings: **__Just some crackiness. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

The insistent beep and the red flashing on his intercom told him it was urgent. Without waiting even an astrosecond, Prowl flipped it on, hoping the news wouldn't be too bad.

It was Ratchet. His voice sounded drained and tired, but yet very insistent, as he spoke.

"Prowl, I need you down in the medbay immediately. Bluestreak's life depends on it."

Prowl froze, if only for a fraction of a second.

"I'll be there, Ratchet."

Subspacing the intercom, the tactician headed towards the medbay as quickly as he could, fuel pump churning uncomfortably and a feeling of icy dread in his stomach. When Bluestreak had been brought in after an encounter with the 'Cons earlier today, he had been badly wounded and unconscious. Ratchet had performed a few quick scans, and then informed the 'Bots cramming his medbay that the gunner's condition was serious but stable, and would they please get out of his medbay so he could work in peace.

Reluctantly, they had left, entrusting their comrade's life in the medic's competent hands. Prowl had then spent the remainder of the day anxiously waiting for an update on Bluestreak's condition, the recent piece of news a far cry from what he had hoped for.

Dreading the worst, he flung the door open to the Ark's medbay, hoping it wouldn't be too late.

Three heads quickly looked up from the prone form on the berth as he entered. Ratchet, Perceptor and Wheeljack.

Prowl could feel his spark constrict at the sight. If all three of those mechs were gathered around one patient, it had to be _bad_.

Ratchet beckoned him to approach. "Bluestreak's condition has deteriorated. While I was able to fix the damage to his circuits and systems, the wounds have put too heavy a strain on his spark, and it will not be able to recover on its own." He made a pause, drawing his breath. "He needs a spark energy transfer, and that's why I've called you here. Not all designs can properly interface with each other, but you and Bluestreak are the same model, which means you are automatically compatible. I need you to disengage your power filter and prepare for an interface."

Prowl nodded his understanding as he opened a hatch in his chassis, revealing the delicate circuitry beneath. He held still as Ratchet attached the necessary cables, linking the two mechs together.

A strange tingle, almost a bit _too_ pleasant, spread through the tactician's body as their systems connected and energy from his spark flowed over the cables, and into the young gunner's almost depleted spark. Perhaps he was only imagining it, but it seemed as if the other's drained face was already starting to regain some of its normal luster.

Several kliks passed. Then the patient stirred, faintly at first, but soon more insistently.

A smile of relief spread across the medic's faceplates as he watched his patient slowly coming to life. "Looks like our young friend will be pulling through after all," he said, sounding like the weight of the world had suddenly lifted from his shoulders.

Prowl could feel a tug at his own lips and allowed them to form a rare smile on the otherwise so stern and serious faceplates. "Yes. He's tougher to kill than that, our Bluestreak."

Blue optics suddenly came to life, immediately gluing themselves to the interfacing cables sticking out of the patient's chest. Slowly, the gaze travelled along their length to finally come to rest on the tactician, and the optics widened. "P-Prowl?" a small voice asked in surprised disbelief, as if needing a verbal confirmation that he was indeed seeing correctly.

Ratchet immediately put his hands on the prone mech's shoulders to prevent him from trying to get up. "You'll be fine, Bluestreak, but you're still very weak and need to rest. Just lay back and try not to move."

The gunner obeyed, but his wide optics never left Prowl's form until the medic detached the interfacing cables and ushered the tactician out of the medbay.

* * *

Prowl was happy to have the gunner back again as his partner for patrol duty. While it had been necessary for Bluestreak to recuperate in medbay for a little while, Ratchet's medical expertise soon had him fully functional and operational again.

Getting seriously wounded had apparently done nothing to curb the young gunner's enthusiasm or talkativeness, Prowl mused as he walked with Bluestreak in tow, the latter chattering happily about the card game he had just finished with the twins before his shift started.

While Prowl generally didn't pay much attention to the words as such, he was glad to hear the voice prattling on in the background. He had come to think of it as an odd kind of reassurance – as long as Bluestreak's mouth ran non-stop, everything was as it should be.

There was another thing that hadn't diminished either, Prowl noted – Bluestreak's near hero-worship of the tactician. If anything, the opposite was true.

The gunner had always held a special admiration for his superior officer. While Prowl had initially felt uncomfortable at the blatant idolizing when he had first gotten assigned to working with Bluestreak, feeling the expectations unrealistic and unfounded, he had learned to accept it. While he still believed that he was unsuited to star in Bluestreak's little hero fantasy – he was just a normal, albeit highly skilled, mech doing his job, after all – some 'Bots did thrive on having someone to look up to and idolize. And if it made the gunner feel better, Prowl had decided to let him indulge in his little fantasies undisturbed.

Though, ever since the gunner had exited that medbay, his hero-worship seemed to have reached new heights. Having always enjoyed Prowl's presence, Bluestreak now sought out his company whenever he could. Though, it was understandable, considering that Prowl had saved the young gunner's life. Not that the tactician thought anything of his own actions – they would all have done the same thing for a comrade – but he could see how it had served to pour more fuel onto the other's already blazing fire, which he wasn't sure was entirely healthy.

Perhaps he should address that.

"Look, Bluestreak," he said, interrupting a stream of words that had seamlessly gone from revolving around the colour of the Ark's walls, on to the energon they served at the now defunct bar Dented Chassis in Polyhex, and then further on to the human practice of keeping pets. "About what happened in medbay that time... It was nothing. Please don't attach any importance to it or turn it into something more than what it was."

"Oh." The devastated look on the gunner's face could have rivaled that of a wet puppy as he looked at the tactician with wide optics. "You're talking about... the-the interfacing. And it didn't mean anything to you..." His doorwings slumped. "I-I see," he finally stuttered, and then looked away.

Silence followed.

Prowl immediately realized that he had said something wrong, or had somehow managed to offend the gunner, even if he was utterly clueless to the what and how. He drew a sigh. He wasn't good with words, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he would have to make a try.

"I mean... " he started, not sure how he should continue, or what Bluestreak wanted to hear. "I'm glad that it saved your life and that you're back with us. Rest assured, I would do it again. Anytime," he said, giving the young mech's hand an awkward pat.

"_Anytime_?" Bluestreak's face lit up, as if everything was suddenly right with the world again.

"Of course," Prowl nodded and offered a small smile, trying to reassure the other.

Apparently it worked, because Bluestreak once more erupted into a veritable barrage of words, as he bounced happily along at Prowl's side.

The tactician just shrugged inwardly. Bluestreak could be strange like that. But as long as he kept talking, everything was fine.


	8. Reluctance

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Lots of thanks to hydraling110 for betaing._

_**Warnings: **__Just some crackiness. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

"Prowl?"

Said mech looked up from the data pad in his hands, silently scolding himself for thinking he could actually get work done in the rec room. He should have had the sense to retreat to his office instead, where he was much less likely to be disturbed.

He looked up to see who had requested his attention. A red and white 'Bot, fidgeting slightly where he stood, filled his vision.

Prowl quenched the sigh that threatened to escape at the sight. If this had something to do with that delusional theory – _again_ – about how the 'Cons were trying to gain access to the Ark by sending rats in to spy on them, he would seriously...

"Red Alert," he politely acknowledged, cutting off his trail of thought. "Can I help you?"

"Ah, yes. It's about a certain... well, security threat." The fidgeting increased noticeably.

No big surprises there. The times Red Alert had sought him out for other issues could be counted rather quickly, after all.

"What kind of security threat?" the tactician asked, trying to gauge whether this was something that was worth his time or not. Probably it was the latter, considering the usual over-zealousness of the resident security director.

"Umm... " Red Alert hesitated as he glanced around at the other mechs in the rec room. "Perhaps the best thing would be if you came along to my office and we could discuss the matter there."

Well, there was no getting out of this. Prowl reluctantly put the data pad down on the desk and made to follow the red and white mech. While he was fairly certain it would turn out to be nothing worth his concern, he would not dismiss the security director without having first heard him out. A few times, his paranoia _had_ turned out to be well motivated, after all.

Even if those times were rather far and few in between.

Prowl waited patiently as Red Alert typed in the multiple security codes to the door to his office and then ran three different access cards through the scanner. The door slid open with a dull beep, and the two mechs stepped in.

"Please have a seat."

Prowl sat down in the chair that Red Alert had gestured towards, his optics automatically drawn towards the wall in front of him.

Monitors covered it almost from floor to ceiling, giving him a clear view of all public rooms and areas of the Ark and whatever activities were going on in them – Ironhide being in the practice area, shooting at holographic enemies; Jazz and Bluestreak sitting in the rec room, watching human television; the twins skulking in some corridor or the other, doing...

_Oh for Primus' sake, what _were_ those two actually doing_? On behalf of the twins, Prowl sincerely hoped it wasn't what it looked like. As if they didn't have enough double shifts assigned to them already.

The tactician leaned forwards with an angry frown to get a better view, but the monitor was subsequently obscured from view as Red Alert sat down opposite him.

Prowl straightened up in his seat, taking his attention off the monitors. He would talk to the twins later about the little incident he had just witnessed.

"So what kind of security threat are we talking about?" Prowl inquired again.

Red Alert was silent for a few moments, studying the drab surface of the desk as if it held the answers to all the mysteries of the universe.

"Ah, well, you see…" Red Alert finally spoke up, perhaps sensing the tactician's growing impatience, "I'm a bit concerned that not all 'Bots'... virus programs are sufficiently updated."

"We all get them upgraded during our regular check-ups with Ratchet," Prowl objected. "I thought that was enough? Or are you saying there are new strains of viruses out there that our current program versions can't handle?"

"Uh... not exactly, no." Red Alert seemed to have renewed his interest in the surface of the desk, as he avoided contact with Prowl's optics.

When he finally spoke again, the words poured forth at an unusual speed, as if he had practiced his little speech beforehand. "Ever since our arrival on this planet, we have ignored a certain issue during our virus program upgrades, given the composition of Autobots in our crew. But lately it's become clear to me that our current practices are unsustainable, seeing as how there are certain strains of viruses that spread through... ah, interfacing. Thing is, the program we're currently using hasn't been updated to prevent the spread of such viruses, since we've deemed those kinds of subroutines to be superfluous and only serve to unnecessarily take up processor space. Up until now, that is."

So that was it. Prowl knew exactly what had merited this. Word had obviously gotten around to Red Alert about how he had interfaced with Bluestreak for the spark energy transfer, thereby saving his life. No doubt, the gunner had already told the entire Ark about it by now.

True that particular strains of viruses could be transferred while interfacing like that, but it wasn't as if such a risk was even worth mentioning. The only ones in the Ark who shared models, and hence were compatible for that kind of medical procedure, were him and Bluestreak. And the chances that they would have to do it again and then transfer a virus between them in the process, were infinitesimal.

Prowl felt a prickle of annoyance. Such ludicrously small risks did not merit his time.

"To be honest, Red Alert, I really don't think this is necessary," he said, a bit harsher than he had intended.

The security director flinched at the sharp tone in the tactician's voice, but refused to back down. "Look, I have another virus program right here that is specifically designed to prevent type B strains – the ones that can be transferred during an interface – from being both uploaded into and downloaded from a 'Bot's systems. So just take the program to Ratchet and ask him to install it for you, and that will be enough to ensure that no type B viruses can ever spread aboard the Ark."

Sometimes, the security director really did take his duties a bit too seriously. While Prowl appreciated the other's thoroughness, he also wished that Red Alert would focus more on the bigger picture instead of spending time and energy on low-risk scenarios like this.

Not to mention, he _really_ didn't want to have to sit through an entire virus program upgrade just for that.

The tactician made another try. "This is ridiculous. The only mech in this base that I've ever interfaced with is Bluestreak, and I would hardly call _that_ something we're doing on a regular basis," he said, unable to stop a note of sarcasm from slipping into his voice.

The security director held up his hands as if to shield himself, mouth gaping and a look of abject horror on his face. Apparently, Prowl's refusal was already making his processor flood with horrible images of what might happen if the tactician didn't get the upgrade, and he and Bluestreak had to do another spark energy transfer in the future.

"Alright, _alright_, no need to go into details, just _please_ get your virus program upgraded with this."

He held the disc out, almost pleadingly.

Sensing there was no way out of this, Prowl reluctantly accepted the disc and exited the security office, to Red Alert's all-too-obvious relief.

* * *

_**End note:**__ Well, Red Alert is right _– a_lways use protection! And thus ends today's public service announcement. ;)  
_


	9. Annoyance

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Lots of thanks to hydraling110 for betaing._

_**Warnings: **__Just some crackiness. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Walking through the corridors of the Ark, Prowl was glad to finally get an opportunity to hit the wash racks. With all the training, working, and fighting, not to mention all the report writing that followed the latter, sometimes it felt as if there wasn't room for much else.

But now, he had two entire joors before his next shift started, and he would make good use of them. The tactician frowned slightly as he looked down on his frame and the dried mud, flaking oil, and grime that covered it. Not that he was normally overly concerned with his physical appearance, but he did have a strong appreciation for cleanliness and neatness.

As he was about to step into the washing room, he halted and turned around to look over his shoulder. Was something...?

No. It was probably nothing.

Content with that, he stepped into one of the shower compartments and turned the taps on, letting warm water flow down over him. He relished in the delightful feeling as the streams trailed across his chassis, dripping down into puddles at his feet. For a moment, he off-lined his optics and just let it all wash over him, rinsing the mud and grime off his form, giving his black and white paintjob its natural look back, as opposed to the darker and lighter shades of gray it had sported lately.

Feeling his mood take an upturn, he grabbed a bottle of cleaning chemicals from the shelf and started to rub its contents over himself. He started with his arms and upper torso and then moved downwards, making sure no crevice or joint was passed over. His fingers slipped into the seam running down the right side of his torso and gently massaged the cleaning solution into it.

Then he stopped and froze mid-motion. He could have sworn that...

But no. There was no one here but him.

Scanning the room critically, he could find nothing out of the ordinary. Shrugging to himself, he returned to his bottle of chemicals and poured another generous helping into his palm. Perhaps the recent Reflector incident was making him paranoid. It wasn't as if the 'Cons would be stupid enough to try and pull a similar stunt so shortly after their last failure. Surely they realized that the Autobots would be even more on the lookout than usual for such infiltration attempts.

Still, he couldn't quite shake that vaguely uncomfortable feeling that was prickling his chassis like tiny needles.

The washing racks having suddenly lost some of their previous allure, Prowl hurried up to clean the rest of the dirt off himself and then turned the water off. He stood unmoving for a while, waiting for the water to drip off his frame, before he grabbed a canister of wax. The cool feeling as he sprayed the polish over his chassis was soothing, though, and he felt himself relax again.

The respite was short-lived, however. For some reason, the prickling feeling only increased in intensity as he rubbed the sticky substance over his torso, spreading it evenly over the black and white armour.

His optic ridges drew together. Was he imagining things or not? Perhaps Ratchet wasn't the only who'd benefit from a vacation?

Quickly finishing up, he exited the washing racks and headed straight for the practice area. He had some time yet before his monitor duty would resume.

The practice room was empty as well when he stepped in. He didn't mind that one bit, though. It just meant fewer distractions.

He grabbed one of the guns on the rack and activated the battle simulator. A metallic voice filled the room, dry and monotonous.

_"Stand ready for simulation type four. Starting in ten astroseconds... eight... six... four... two... one."_

Prowl expectedly darted to the side as the first shape materialized on the holo-wall in front of him. Firing off a laser shot straight at the head of the figure, he quickly turned to his right to render another suddenly appearing opponent harmless. Two new ones soon appeared in his place, both of them firing large laser blasters at him.

He dodged the shots, tumbling a couple of rolls on the floor before getting up on one knee, his laser rifle already blazing. Both of his shots hit home, but he had no time to catch his breath before another mech materialized just a few meters from where he was crouching.

The tactician moved fluently and effortlessly. His holographic opponent didn't stand a chance. Prowl was not only a mastermind strategist, but also one of the most skilled fighters the Autobot army had to offer. Power and grace exuded his entire being as he ducked and tumbled, jumped and rolled. His smooth movements were only accentuated by how he wielded the laser gun in his talented hands, like it was a natural, lethal part of himself, easily disposing of enemies like they were nothing but flimsy paper dolls.

_"Sequence one finished. Your results: Enemies hit – fifty out of fifty. Own hits – zero."_

Prowl only stood waiting, serious and deadly, panting slightly, laser gun at the ready, his optics shining with determination.

Then his deep concentration was distracted by something. And this time... he was sure he hadn't imagined it. A slight, almost imperceptible, shift in the air...

_"Stand ready for sequence two. Starting in ten astroseconds... eight... six... four... two... one."_

He finished that sequence as flawlessly as the first one. He then waited, silently and unmoving, as the battle simulator computer impassively read him his perfect score. But he wasn't listening. Instead, he was fully focusing on a certain part of the room, not far from where he was standing, trying to sense and feel what he couldn't see.

Yes. _There_.

Suddenly, without warning, as the monotonous voice dully announced the countdown for the third sequence, Prowl struck.

Moving with the speed and agility that only millions of years of practice could have brought, he lunged for something on his right side, making a grab for what appeared to be only thin air.

With grim satisfaction, Prowl felt his hand close around invisible neck cables, and he brought his gun up to the similarly invisible head of his yet very real opponent.

"Show yourself, you scum," he growled fiercely, giving his captive a rough shake as he tightened his grip and pressed the barrel of his gun harder into the now shivering form.

The air flickered for a brief moment, and then, right before Prowl's optics, stood...

"_Mirage_?"

The 'Bot in question looked as shocked as the tactician felt.

Prowl released his grip on the trembling mech and let his gun arm fall. "Just what on Primus' afterburners do you think you're _doing_, sneaking around on me like that? You could have gotten yourself _killed_!" he scolded angrily.

"I-I..." Mirage seemed to have trouble speaking. Probably, it wasn't only due to the vicious grip that had mere astroseconds ago painfully squeezed his throat.

The blue and white spy looked down at the floor, clearly embarrassed, before managing to find any words.

"I was just... practicing my stealth skills. You know, trying to avoid getting detected while following someone around..." He gulped. "It's g-great practice, really! I do that all the time! To-to _all_ of my comrades, of course, not just you!"

Prowl could feel the unpleasant tingle of a beginning headache. How come some of his subordinates never stopped to _think_ for a bit before doing something?

"While I appreciate that you're taking your duties and role so seriously, Mirage, I would have thought it obvious that a practice area is _not_ the place to sneak around on someone," the tactician chided. "You could have gotten yourself injured, or worse."

The spy only nodded, looking even queasier than the twins would as Prowl started his long lecture about the importance of safety rules and following regulations.


	10. Embarrassment

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Lots of thanks to hydraling110 for betaing._

_**Warnings: **__Just some crackiness. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

"_Incoming transmission_," the computer in the officers' room intoned monotonously, accompanied by a blue flashing light.

Prowl looked up from his usual pile of reports.

_Finally. _

It was the scheduled transmission that he had been waiting for. Normally, Prime would be the one answering them, but seeing as how he was currently away helping the humans with some infrastructure project or the other, that responsibility now fell on the Second in Command.

"Good morning, Elita-1," he greeted as the monitor sprang to life, showing the pink form of the female Autobots' leader.

"Hi, Prowl! Everything alright over there?"

"Yes. There is nothing much to report from our side, except that we have managed to find and destroy the solar powered laser cannon our sources told us that Megatron was building."

Elita-1 nodded. "Well done. I was a bit worried about that one, seeing as how its location was so hard to find. Glad you managed to take care of it."

"We had excellent intelligence from Mirage to help us," the tactician acknowledged, before continuing his report. "Also, recent activities are suggesting that the Earth-stationed Decepticons are planning to use the space bridge soon. You might want to be on the lookout for that."

"We'll keep an eye on it."

"So any news from Cybertron?"

The femme shrugged. "Just the usual – we raided Shockwave's energon stash again, and we've also managed to intercept a few of his transmissions to Megatron. We'll send them over to you once we've gotten them decoded."

"Thank you," Prowl said. "Anything else?"

"No, I think that's all for now."

"Then I wish you and your teammates a pleasant day." He made to turn the monitor off and end the transmission, but was stopped by Elita-1's insistent voice.

"Hey, you don't have to turn it off just yet, do you?"

Prowl halted his hand in midair and let it fall to his side. Was there something else on the femme leader's mind?

Confident that she wasn't about to be shut off, the pink 'Bot seemed to relax, her normal commanding and rather strict demeanour softening. She reclined into her chair, giving the tactician a friendly smile.

"So tell me how you're doing, Prowl? You're not getting lonely there on Earth or anything?"

The tactician's optic ridges arched towards his chevron. Why would he be getting lonely, having an entire spaceship full of mechs to keep him company? If anything, he wished for _more_ solitude and time for himself, not less.

Sensing the black and white mech's confusion, Elita-1 quickly elaborated. "Well, there are no female Autobots in the Ark to keep you company, are there?"

Prowl's transistors froze for a moment. Had he heard correctly? The leader of the female Autobots bringing up such a subject? And to the Second in Command, to boot?

How inappropriate.

"I manage," he replied stiffly, hoping his reluctance to discuss this further would be obvious and the issue dropped.

"I'm sure you do," came the other 'Bot's sympathetic reply. "But I thought it would be nice for you to get to talk a bit to some femmes for once. I mean, it's not like you get that opportunity very often, do you?"

Prowl was on the verge of shutting off the transmission then and there, but the impulse was overridden by his desire not to be rude. The pink femme _was_ the Autobot leader's bondmate, if nothing else. Not to mention, a very competent leader of her own team. Even if she currently wasn't acting like it.

Suddenly, the other femmes in Elita-1's team came into view as they crowded around the monitor, grinning and waving to the tactician. "Hey, Prowl! Nice to see you!"

The tactician gave a curt nod back. "Moonracer. Firestar. Chromia," he acknowledged rather flatly.

"So how's Ironhide doing?" the blue femme inquired with a grin. "Slag it, I really miss the old fragger."

"You mean, you miss how he revs your engine at night, don't you?" Moonracer sniggered, a teasing note in her voice.

Chromia punched her playfully in the arm. "Well, that too! Let me tell you, that guy _really_ knows how to get a femme's circuits overheated!"

The red 'Bot next to her laughed. "And that's one of the advantages of being bonded to a fire truck... having someone to cool you down once things start to catch on fire!"

Her comment was followed by a barrage of giggles.

Prowl could hardly believe his audio receptors. What had caused this sudden frivolous kind of behaviour? While he could certainly imagine the kinds of conversations that went on between the femmes when they were alone, indulging in them while a mech was present was anything but proper. And it wasn't like them at all.

But, finally, his logic processor managed to churn out a reasonable explanation for this undignified scenario that was playing itself out before his very optics.

The femmes had, perhaps in celebration of their successful raid at Shockwave's headquarters, been drinking high-grade. And lots of it, too, judging by the rocky and overgrown paths the conversation was heading down. While Elita-1 had appeared sober enough at first, he knew that the average femme's systems took considerably longer to respond to high-grade than those of a mech. And so, the effects of whatever the team had been drinking were just now starting to manifest themselves.

So early in the day, too. He frowned. And to think that some of his comrades were unable to understand why he never drank high-grade...

"Although," Chromia said, still snickering, "in my case, I'd say it's Ironhide who would be in need of a bit of cooling down, considering the pictures I sent him!"

"Haha, you mean _those_," Elita-1 chimed in. "The whole Ark would probably kill to get their hands on them!"

"I bet." She grinned conspiratorially at the flabbergasted tactician. "Hey Prowl, wanna see the pictures Ironhide sent me in return?"

The black and white mech instinctively took a step back from the monitor. "No! That's not... I mean..."

However, Prowl's feeble protests were drowned out by the supportive shouts from the blue femme's teammates. "Yeah, let's see them, Chromia!"

The femme fished around in her subspace pocket and brought out a fist of colourful photos. They were passed around among the eager femme hands, accompanied by the snickering and giggling of the participants. Prowl did his best not to look. He really didn't want to see the weapons specialist in such... compromising positions.

He squinted for an astrosecond. _Who would have known that the servos of an old mech like Ironhide could actually bend _that_ way_... The tactician shuddered and looked away.

"You have the ones you sent to Ironhide, too? Figured I might as well get some inspiration for something to send to poor lonely Inferno..." Firestar grinned.

"Oh, I do."

More pictures were brought forth, and to Prowl's horror, this time the sleek form of the blue femme was adorning them.

_Oh Primus_. If the weapons specialist ever found out that another mech had seen such pictures of his bondmate, however inadvertently, there wouldn't be words to describe his displeasure.

"You look dreamy! Absolutely gorgeous! I bet Ironhide can't help but stick his fingers right into his own circuitry whenever he looks at these!"

Moonracer grabbed a picture of the weapons specialist and gave it an appreciative nod. "Heh, don't you just love how it's always the reserved, stoic mechs who turn out to be the ones totally lacking in inhibition once it gets down to the interesting stuff?"

"Tell me about it," Elita-1 nodded sagely. "It's like when I met Optimus. I thought at first he was going to be a total bore in the berth, but instead, the walls around me seemed to be exploding into supernovas once he got beneath my chassis. He just couldn't get enough, and..."

Prowl choked. He _really_ didn't need to hear this.

The pink femme grinned at Prowl, winking an optic in his direction. "Yeah, you know what we're talking about, right?"

"I..." was all the tactician managed. This had to stop. Now.

"Look. I-I have... things to do. Reports to write. Would you please excuse me?"

"Alright, Prowl," Elita-1 sat up in her chair, firing off a friendly smile. "Just remember, if you ever feel lonely over there, you know where to turn!"

"And be sure to give my thanks to Ironhide for the photos he sent me. I loved them!" Chromia winked at him.

Prowl couldn't wait to hit the red button that would end the transmission.

* * *

_**End note: **Well, what can I say other than that the female Autobots must be getting lonely too. _


	11. Awkwardness

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Lots of thanks to hydraling110 for betaing._

_**Warnings: **__Just some crackiness. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Prowl looked up and nodded his acknowledgement as the weapons specialist entered the rec room and sat down opposite of the tactician.

The red mech returned the greeting. Humming quietly to himself, he then brought out a gun from his subspace pocket and started cleaning it with a flimsy rag.

The tactician turned his attention back to his data pad, continuing to tirelessly plow his way through block after block of finely printed text.

After a few kliks, Ironhide spoke up.

"Oh, by the way, ya talked with the female Autobots, didn't ya? How was Chromia doin'?"

Prowl froze, his optics stopping right in the middle of a sentence. He had fiercely hoped that Ironhide wouldn't bring the subject up. Up until now, he had done his best to try and forget all about that embarrassing little spectacle.

He hesitated a bit before answering, trying to find as neutral a reply as possible. "I did. Everything was alright with her," he managed.

Ironhide looked at him with slightly raised optic ridges, clearly expecting him to elaborate.

"She did mention that she missed you, but otherwise she seemed to be... in a good mood," he finished rather weakly.

"Yeah, I kinda miss her too, ya know."

The admittance surprised Prowl. The gruff weapons specialist wasn't a mech to normally say such things openly, rather dismissing anything involving feelings or emotions with a disdainful snort. But perhaps the long absence from his bondmate had finally softened his spark.

Ironhide sighed. "It feels really empty sometimes, being away from each other like that..." His voice trailed off somewhere far into the distance as if he were reminiscing about better times long gone.

"I... can imagine," Prowl said hesitatingly, overcome by a sudden awkwardness. Primus knew he wasn't used to talking openly about these things either.

The red mech gave a lopsided smile. "I usually don't talk about all this with other mechs. See, they don't understand these things."

Prowl couldn't argue with that. After all, very few of the mechs in the Ark had bondmates and knew first-hand the emotional effects of a long separation.

"So that's why I'm glad there's someone like you around," Ironhide said, leaning in a bit closer to the other. "It's nice to have someone in the Ark that you can talk to about... feelings and stuff."

_Well, that was different. _

A fleeting, although strong, impression that he was missing a pivotal part of the puzzle suddenly floated by in Prowl's processor. But perhaps it was simply the mention of Chromia that had brought this unusual intimacy. Gruff as the red mech was, he had always had a soft spot for femmes.

The weapons specialist seemed to have sensed some of Prowl's awkwardness. "Sorry, didn't mean to get all mushy on ya..."

"Don't worry about it."

There was silence for a while. Ironhide looked down on the gun that he had been cleaning, fiddling around with it somewhat nervously.

"Oh, by the way… she-she didn't say anything about, uh... something I sent her, did she?" he then asked, sounding both hopeful and expectant.

The data pad in Prowl's hands fell to the floor with a resounding _clang_, as the tactician drew a sharp breath, unable to hide his embarrassed discomfort at the mentioning of the pictures the two bondmates had been trading. That was about the last subject he wanted the other to bring up. To think that Chromia, Ironhide's own bondmate, had actually flaunted those photos of herself right in front of his optics…

The red mech just stared at the tactician, uncomprehending at his reaction at first, but then, as he saw Prowl's face tense and jaws clench tightly at the question, horrified realization suddenly dawned upon him.

"No way, don't tell me... she actually showed ya the pictures?" He seemed to be having trouble getting the words out, as if they had been coated in glue and stuck to his vocalizer.

Silence followed as Ironhide looked at the tactician in utter mortification.

Prowl didn't know what to say, but he still tried. "Look, Chromia appeared to be heavily over-energized when we spoke. I can't imagine that she would have done such a thing in a sober condition. It was just the high-grade that…"

"Oh Primus, ya actually saw _those_… I can't believe she showed them to ya... I thought they were supposed to be private," Ironhide mumbled to himself as if he hadn't heard the tactician. He buried his face in his hands, unable to meet with Prowl's optics.

The tenseness in the room could have been cut with a knife, and Prowl was starting to feel increasingly uncomfortable. Ironhide was known to be a rather jealous and protective mech. Of course he was upset, and understandably so. Having a bondmate showing such pictures of herself to another mech would have that effect on anyone.

Prowl made another effort to calm his visibly disturbed comrade. The last thing he wanted was for Ironhide to believe that the tactician had enjoyed the little show, and that this unfortunate incident would ruin their hitherto good comradeship.

"I would _never_ voluntarily have even as much as glanced at them, not under any circumstances," he said with emphasis. "Trust me. I had no desire whatsoever to see those pictures, and, frankly, I wish I hadn't. If I could somehow unsee them, I would."

His words were met with a deadly silence, as Ironhide just stared at him with optics wide in shock, mouth moving silently as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the appropriate words. Clearly, Prowl's reassurance had, for whatever reason, not had the intended effect.

When Ironhide finally spoke up, his words were uncharacteristically soft and demure.

"Tell me, Prowl, am I really that unattractive a mech?"

The black and white mech cocked an optic ridge. It was an odd question, one he had never expected to hear from the weapons specialist. But he supposed he could understand what had prompted it. If his own bondmate was shamelessly flaunting such risqué photos of herself to other mechs, no wonder Ironhide was starting to worry that he was losing his appeal to the blue femme.

The tactician sighed. He didn't want to see his comrade in such a gloomy mood over something that was clearly no more than a high-grade-caused faux pas.

"Ironhide," Prowl said sternly, fixing the red mech's optics with his own. "Please leave it be. Chromia is your bondmate. Everyone knows that the two of you are made for each other, and that's all there is to it. No other 'Bots belong in that equation. You know that. Just like she does." He emphasized each word, hoping he could make the other see reason.

The dejected look on Ironhide's face quickly turned into one of acute embarrassment. "O-of course. I'm sorry, Prowl. I didn't mean ta imply anything. Sorry if it came off that way. Of course I know ya're not interested in a 'Bot like…"

"It's alright," Prowl interrupted the red mech, gracefully accepting the apology. "Let's just forget about this."

Desperate to move away from this discussion, he searched around for another conversation topic that would let them leave this sorry ordeal behind once and for all. He quickly found one, right in Ironhide's own hands.

The weapons specialist's favourite subject. _Perfect._

"By the way, is that a new rifle? It looks very impressive." The tactician leaned forward to stroke his hand down the barrel and then up again, trying to gauge its firepower. "I find this kind of model a bit too big for me personally, but if a mech knows how to use it properly, I can imagine it works wonders."

He was probably imagining it, but for a second, Ironhide looked distinctively ill.


	12. Incredulity

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Lots of thanks to hydraling110 for her awesome betaing._

_**Warnings: **__Just some crackiness. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

Prowl ducked under the round of laser fire that was coming for him, and then dove behind a collection of large boulders to avoid another swarm.

He uttered a few well-rounded curses under his breath as he peered out from his little hiding place. The three Seekers – Starscream, Thundercracker, and Skywarp – seemed to have their minds set on him, acting as if none of the other present Autobots existed. Perhaps this time they had gotten special orders from Megatron to put the enemy tactician out of commission.

He considered comming the others for back-up, but the rest of his team had their hands full with Bruticus and seemed to be in even worse trouble than he was. He grimaced as he saw Ironhide barely managing to jump out of the way as a giant fist swung down from above, punching a deep dent into the ground.

No, he would have to deal with the Seekers themselves, and then he could hopefully help his comrades take on the powerful gestalt.

He pressed closer to the boulders, taking aim at one of the jets that circled above him. For the moment, they were too far away for him to hit, but once they descended on him, he would be ready to take them on. His finger tightened its grip on the trigger.

"We got their little tactician now, don't we?" The shrill voice of the Decepticon Second in Command fleeted down to where Prowl was huddling. The tactician winced, but remained silent.

"There's nowhere left to run!" the red and white flier cackled loudly, half to his wingmates and half to Prowl.

As Prowl had suspected almost immediately from their attack strategy, their plan had been to separate him from the others, to get him alone so they could take him on undisturbed. And to his dismay, their tactics had succeeded.

Well, he wasn't going to meet his fate lying down.

Quick like a viper, Prowl emerged from his cover and let loose a burst of laser fire at the closest jet. Said Seeker veered sharply from his trajectory, and the shot only grazed a blue wing. Thundercracker let out a hiss and wobbled a little, but was soon back on track again.

"Watch it, TC, this one's got claws!" The black and purple jet laughed at his wingmate's misfortune. "Better be careful or you'll get yourself a new, freshly ripped exhaust port."

"By a ground-hugging Autobot? I don't think so!" the blue flier growled, but made no further attempts to approach the tactician.

Prowl prayed he would get a better shot in next time. While the three 'Cons weren't known for their processor capacity, they did have considerable firepower and knew how to use it.

But why weren't they attacking? He had a fleeting feeling they were waiting for something. Perhaps more back-up? That would be bad, considering that the small team of Autobots was already outnumbered. He had radioed the Ark to request some back-up of his own, but it would be some time yet before their comrades arrived. Until then, they would have no choice but to hold their own against the superior enemy.

"Eh, who cares? I like 'em feisty!" a grating voice shrieked from above. The statement was followed by dumb, mindless laughter from the speaker's two wingmates.

_So Starscream wanted his enemies to be 'feisty', huh? Well, he'd show them._

The obnoxious Second in Command suddenly made a dive for Prowl's little hideout, but was quickly driven away by a sharp laser blast.

Prowl was starting to get frustrated. Why weren't they coming at him all three at once, full on? Were they only playing with him, enjoying their obvious superiority as a trine of Seekers taking on a single ground-bound Autobot?

The obtuse voice of Skywarp cut through the tactician's thoughts as the jet addressed his two comrades with an air of disdain. "You guys don't stand a chance in the Pit of pulling it off. I'll be the first one, just watch me!"

"Right, 'Warp, like you'd ever manage!"

So the three had some sort of bet going between them, did they? That had to be why they weren't simply attacking and eliminating him on the spot. What the bet consisted of, Prowl didn't want to think about, but he could imagine that it was something along the veins of which one of them could first rip his head clean off his body.

"Like I said – just watch me!"

Prowl knew it was too late when he heard the distinct crackle in the air and smelled the pungent stench of ozone. The black and purple Seeker had warped. He felt rather than heard how Skywarp materialized right behind him, only inches away. It seemed to Prowl as if the world around him was suddenly playing in a painful slow-motion, his processor still working as lightening-fast as always, but his bodily reactions lagging severely behind. A wave of solemn acceptance rolling over him, he realized that this was the end. With Skywarp already behind him, there would be no time for him to turn around and defend himself before...

...before two strong hands grabbed his aft and squeezed. Hard.

Prowl wheeled around in shock and confusion, but his assailant had warped again, and the tactician only faced empty air. Instead, he was greeted by a wave of howled amusement from the Seekers who now hovered above him in robot-mode, all three of them fighting to stay airborne as paroxysms of laughter shook their forms.

"Did you guys see that, huh? Did you _see_ that?" Skywarp managed to press forth between the attacks, hands pressed over his stomach.

"N-not bad, 'Warp, guess we really d-did underestimate you," his blue wingmate stuttered, almost doubled over.

"You each owe me five energon cubes! And you better pay up as soon as we get back to base!" the victorious 'Con proclaimed, waving a triumphant hand into the air.

Prowl just stared at the undignified display in mortification, hardly able to believe his optics and audio receptors. So _this_ was what the bet had been about? Who among them could sneak up behind the tactician and... grab hold of his backside? It made no sense. The only conclusion he could come to was that it was meant as a sort of demoralizing tactic, to humiliate a high-ranking enemy officer by groping him like a drunken, rowdy mech would a femme in one of the dingier bars in Kaon. In those long-gone days when there were still some femmes left to speak off, that was.

He glowered at the three Decepticons, who were still caught up in their own amusement. Not an ounce of dignity or respect for the enemy there. A growl rose in his throat as he heard the obnoxious black and purple Seeker describe in vivid detail how Prowl's aft had felt in his hands, as the other two listened attentively, optics glowing.

Behind him, Prowl heard the unmistakable sound of the requested back-up finally arriving at the scene. Apparently the Seekers noticed it as well, as they sobered up a little and took off in their jet forms, still snickering. Desperate to reclaim some of his sullied pride, Prowl raised his laser rifle and took careful aim, before pulling the trigger.

The pained shriek as his shot hit its mark was perversely satisfying. So was the loud clang that followed as the flying pest crashed into the ground, his momentum plowing up a deep rift into the grass.

Prowl watched in contentment as the two other Seekers dove for their fallen wingmate, to ascend carrying a dazed and subdued Skywarp between them.


	13. Clarity

_**Acknowledgements:**__ Lots of thanks to hydraling110 for her awesome betaing._

_**Warnings: **__Just some crackiness. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way. _

* * *

"And here," Prowl indicated a few squiggly markings on the map spread out on the table, "we have sensors rigged that will alarm us in case any Decepticons are nearby. Taking that and the respective distances of the Autobot and Decepticon headquarters into account, the circled areas have been deemed safe locations for your new power plant, Governor Miller. If you build it anywhere else, chances are we might not be able to make it in time to defend it in case of a Decepticon attack."

Miller nodded in quiet understanding. Prowl had no idea whether any of the acceptable locations for the planned power plant would be compatible with whatever additional constraints the humans had for the project. Perhaps, in the end, it might never come to fruition. The areas that the governor had favoured in their previous meeting had all been shot down by Prowl because of their vulnerability.

There were deep wrinkles of concentration on the governor's forehead as he studied the map. Probably, he was trying to find a fault in the tactician's reasoning and argue for a more desirable location.

Still, Prowl had to admit that he actually liked the governor. For a human, he was highly intelligent and had more wits about him than most of his fellow organics. Even if the two seldom saw eye to eye on an issue, their disagreement usually emanated in interesting discussions and a mutual exchange of new ideas.

But this time, the tactician was fully certain of his conclusions, and was ready to stand up in their defense. None of the unmarked areas on the map were safe, and for the sake of both the humans and the Autobots, he would not give ground on this. Granted, the planet belonged to the humans and they had the right to build whatever they wanted in whatever places they desired, but Prowl refused to give up until he had made the other see things from his perspective.

As Miller looked up from the map, Prowl had a hundred arguments ready to shoot down the inevitable protests that he knew were waiting on the human's lips.

Tapping a finger against his chin in contemplation, the governor let his gaze travel over the Autobot in front of him, as if unsure where to start. Although he was normally an assertive man, this time he looked uncharacteristically hesitant. From the looks of it, he was not going to accept Prowl's map markings by face value.

"You know, I never realized that there were actually..." The governor made a pause, groping around for the right words. "Ah... _female_ Transformers." The intonation made it sound more like a question than a statement of an already known fact.

For a moment, Prowl was at a loss for words. Was _this_ what had been going through the human's mind as he studied the map? The fact that their species consisted of femmes as well as mechs?

Miller was sporting the apologetic expression of someone who was worried that his question might have insulted or otherwise offended his conversation partner, which Prowl found rather odd. Granted, a strategic planning meeting was not an appropriate moment to start discussing Cybertronian anatomy, but the subject matter as such was in no way offensive. Surely the human should understand that much, considering that half of their own species was female.

"Our species exhibits gender dimorphism just like yours does, Governor," Prowl explained patiently. "But unfortunately, Cybertronian femmes have gone almost extinct, and there are now only a very small number left."

Sad but true. He didn't know of any more femmes than a handful, if even that. Perhaps when the war was finally over, there would be none left.

It was a depressing thought that he didn't want to consider any further. He hoped that the governor would be satisfied with the reply and return to the issue of the new power plant's location.

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that," Miller said, looking genuinely sympathetic. "But seen from that perspective, I think it's even more impressive how females of your kind are doing their part in this war just like the males are."

"Of course. Femmes are just as skillful and capable as mechs."

"Oh, I certainly didn't mean to imply any differently," the governor filled in with lightening speed. And again, there was this tension in his posture like he thought he had offended Prowl.

Well, human culture and behaviour were in many ways different from their Cybertronian equivalents, so perhaps it was no great mystery that Miller's idea of what was appropriate or not differed from Prowl's own.

"I don't mean to be rude, but I just wanted to say that I think it sets a great example for Earth that a female among your kind can hold the position of a highly respected military tactician. I wish that kind of thing were as natural for us here in America. We have so much to learn from your species, and still a long way to...."

Prowl's logic processor made a back flip. _Now wait just a minute. Did the governor actually believe that... _

"I'm not a femme," Prowl brusquely interrupted the governor, surprised by the unfounded assumption.

"_What?_ But... I thought..." The words were almost choked out, and for a moment the governor looked like he had trouble with his air intakes as he spluttered and coughed. It was followed by the sort of change in facial colour that Prowl had learnt to interpret as a human sign of embarrassment.

Prowl frowned. "I'm a mech. Or a male, going by Earth terminology. There are no Cybertronian femmes – females – stationed on this planet."

"I'm terribly sorry," the human gulped, a hand slapped over his mouth. "I didn't mean to cause any offense..."

"None taken," Prowl said with a shrug. As silly as the assumption had been, he could forgive the human. Miller had never met any femmes and could not be expected to know how to tell them apart from mechs. Prowl remembered how he himself had initially had difficulties judging whether a member of Earth's dominant species was male or female, even if he had eventually learnt to pick up on the subtle differences between the two genders. Considering that, the human's mistake was understandable.

Still, the tactician was intensely grateful there were no others present for this meeting. Having anyone of his comrades present while Miller uttered his little faux paus would have been decisively embarrassing, to say the least.

Eager as the tactician was to leave the topic behind and return to the issue of the power plant, there was one thing he needed to know first to satisfy his own curiosity.

"What made you believe I was a femme, Governor?"

"Well, it's just something I heard," the human said rather meekly.

The tactician's optics narrowed dangerously. "Who told you such a thing?" If it turned out that feeding the governor lies about a superior officer's gender identity was the twins' idea of fun, he would _so_ nail their afts to the wall of the brig and leave them there to rust.

"No one in particular. It's just what... everyone aboard the Ark seems to believe."

The world spun in front of Prowl's optics as the ramifications of the governor's words hit him like a flood wave, putting his interactions in the last couple of days in a very, _very_ different light. And suddenly, horrifyingly, it all made sense to him.

_Oh Primus, no._ _Did his comrades actually think that he... that he... _

His processor gave an ominous crackle.

_It wasn't possible... It would mean that... that... And his conversation with... B-but... And th-then... th-shkkk...  
_

The tactician wobbled alarmingly, logic circuits overheating.

_S-shk… frizzle... spatz... kssshhhhh..._

Miller could have sworn he saw blue sparks suddenly shoot out from the tactician's head. He just barely managed to jump aside to avoid a violent death-by-falling-robot as Prowl hit the floor with a loud _clang_.

Still in shock, the gaping governor could do nothing but stare at the now twitching form on the ground, strategic map squarely forgotten.

* * *

_**End note:**__ Well, this was originally supposed to be the last chapter, followed by a short epilogue. However, now that we're at the end of this story, I've been toying a bit with the thought of continuing with a bunch of "post-revelation" chapters. I have an idea about what direction I would, if that were the case, take it, but I'm not sure if I can expand enough on it to merit a continuation. In either case, this story will be on hold for some time while I figure out if I can do anything more with this storyline. If so, more chapters will be posted, and if not, I'll simply add the epilogue that I have written for this. _

_In any case, I wish to thank you guys for all your feedback and comments! :) When I started writing this story I never imagined that so many would take an interest in it! So, thank you! _


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